


What's in a Song?

by KatieComma



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Guitars, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mac talks about his mom a little, Music, Pining, but it's happy nostalgia, the fluffiest sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma/pseuds/KatieComma
Summary: Over the years Jack has noticed that Mac's guitar is always tuned and ready to play, but Mac never plays it.One day curiosity gets the better of him and he asks the reason.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlackVultures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVultures/gifts).

> Happy birthday Sammy!
> 
> Sorry it's late!!!

The op had been long and stupid. But now they were home and despite the fact that they’d just flown around the world and trudged through danger, and a heck of a lotta mud, Jack wasn’t tired in the least.

Jack and Mac had always been on the same page in that regard. Neither of them could sleep for a solid 12 hours or so after getting back from an op.

It was midday in LA when they walked through Mac’s door.

The house was quiet, and full of warm afternoon sunshine.

Since Bozer had moved in with Leanna, Mac’s house was quiet more often than not. It made Jack a little sad to think of Mac alone in the big old silent house; the ghost of his grandpappy buzzing around. Not to mention the super villains that all knew where he lived and liked to stop by.

Mac told him that it wasn’t like that; he liked the quiet and the ability to work on his random experiments at any time of day or night and not get complaints from Bozer about the smell of the chemicals, or the noise from his tools. Plus he’d had a Phoenix security system installed. 

None of that eased Jack’s mind at all.

Mac headed straight for his room to change out of his travel clothes.

“What you wanna do today man?” Jack called back toward the bedroom as he left his bag at the front door and made his way toward the kitchen. Hopefully there would be cold beer in the fridge. And maybe that sandwich he’d left there when they’d been called in for the mission.

“Whatever!” Mac called back. “Might work on my bike some more!”

Jack checked the fridge. Nadda on the beer and the sandwich. Looked like Bozer had been over to clean house while they’d been gone. Probably for the best based on the way Mac let his fridge get. Well, the way Mac and Jack let the fridge get. Jack was over so often he even had his own shelf.

Disappointed with the lack of selection, Jack made his way to the living room. He considered plopping down on the couch, but the energy buzzing through his veins told him that the 10 hour flight had been enough sitting for the foreseeable future.

Instead, Jack walked around the room and looked at the contents the way he had a thousand times before: the motorcycle, propped on its stand in the corner so Mac could pull it out and work on it whenever he wanted; the pictures and paintings that had hung in the room since the house had belonged to Mac’s grandfather; the acoustic guitar on the stand in the corner.

Jack drew a finger across the top of the guitar’s body; no dust, clean and smooth. Jack had played the guitar a few times over the years. And though he’d never seen Mac play it, the thing was always strung, tuned and free of dust. Which, in Mac’s house, was saying something considering the state he left most things that weren’t part of his latest experiment.

Jack heard the fridge door open and close. Mac came into the living room. “Man, I thought I had beer or something,” he said. “Wanna order a pizza?”

“I could eat,” Jack replied, reaching into his back pocket and finding it empty. His latest phone was another casualty of Mac’s improvisation. “You gotta call it in though genius.”

Mac smiled wide and Jack tried to ignore the obnoxious sparkle in those baby blues. That sparkle that made his stomach flip each and every time.

Jack was drawn back to the guitar while Mac made the call, and as soon as he hung up, Jack turned to him. “Can I ask you a question man?”

“Course,” Mac said as he absently switched on the TV and changed to the sports channel.

“How come, in all the years you’ve been my best friend, I ain’t never seen you play this here guitar?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know how to play guitar,” Mac admitted simply while he channel surfed.

Jack was beyond confused. “Then how come it’s always tuned up and ready to go?” Jack asked, turning back to the guitar and plucking gently at the strings. “If you don’t play it?”

Mac got a little quiet and set the TV remote down carefully. “Well…” Jack turned to look at him, and there wasn’t nervousness or anything in his posture or face, just a little sadness. “It was my mom’s guitar.”

Jack felt like he’d been slapped. How did he not know that? Jack was struck dumb and couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“She never… before she taught me…” Mac gave Jack a look that said: “well, you know," and he looked resigned about it, the sadness having faded over the years to a dull ache deep in Mac's eyes. "So I make sure it's in good shape, a little like a tribute to her I guess. And when people play it, it's like she's here with me, you know?"

Jack’s mind wandered back over the years to the times that he’d picked up the guitar; this precious piece of Mac’s mom that he kept polished and ready to play. Mac had always worn a smile when Jack played it, always looked on approvingly… had always looked a little sentimental.

“You never told me that before,” Jack said, looking back at the guitar, the soft curving lines of it sparkling in the sunshine.

“Here,” Mac said as he walked to the bookcase at the side of the room and pulled out one of the photo albums stored there. He sank onto the couch and started flipping through pages.

Jack joined him, and watched as Mac flipped through page after page of photos of his childhood. Photos that Jack had seen a million times when Mac had been reminiscing and sharing memories.

“There,” Mac said, almost flipping past the page before he laid the album flat and slid it across onto Jack’s knees. Mac pointed at an old picture that had the just-off too-bright colours of a photo taken in the early 90’s.

Mac’s mom sat outside somewhere, greenery all around, the guitar in her lap, her fingers curled around the strings with the surety of skill. A smile lit her face up, and it was uncannily similar to the smile Mac used around his friends when he was really happy and not just being polite. Her blonde hair was tied back loosely out of her face, and it matched Mac’s hair, all pure sunlit gold. Jack must have seen the photo a thousand times, but he'd never put two and two together.

“She used to play it all the time,” Mac said. “She’d just pick it up out of the blue and play, and sing. Whenever she did my…” Mac swallowed heavy. “My dad would stop whatever he was doing and watch and listen.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Those moments were… perfect. You know?”

Jack nodded and felt himself getting sentimental. Mac didn’t talk about his mom a lot. She’d died when he was five, there wasn’t too much to remember. One night when he’d been really drunk he’d confessed to Jack that he was afraid he’d forget her one day; that her image would just fade right out of his brain and he’d never get the memories back.

“There was this one song she used to play all the time,” Mac said, interrupting Jack’s thoughts. “Must have been one of her favourites.”

“What was it?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Mac said. “I can’t really remember you know. So I just… I’ve never been able to place it. It was this really upbeat song about waking up, and the sunshine…”

“Waking up?” Jack asked, wondering if maybe they could solve this mystery like they solved so many others.

“Yeah,” Mac put on his concentration face, “but I just can’t… when I try to remember it fades away you know?”

Jack knew that feeling well; sometimes the harder you grabbed onto a thought, the more fuzzy the details became. He could tell Mac was getting frustrated and dropped it.

“Well, you know what?” Jack asked, looking back at the picture. “If you still want to learn, I could teach you.”

Mac didn’t say anything.

“I mean, if you want…” Jack looked up to find Mac looking shocked.

“That would be awesome man,” Mac smiled wide.

“Course dude, why didn’t you ask before?” Jack answered.

The doorbell rang. Pizza had arrived.

“Let me just…” Mac gestured to the front door.

Jack sat and stared a little longer at the photo of Mac’s mom. The picture almost came to life as he watched it. He could almost hear the strum of the guitar and feel the warm summer day around him. He wondered what her voice had been like. Was it deep and bluesy? Or light and angelic?

When he heard Mac close the front door, Jack shut the album carefully, reverently, and slid it gently back into its place in the bookcase.

They didn’t talk about the guitar for the rest of the day, but Jack felt it sitting in the corner, excitement filling him up at the prospect of sharing something so personal with Mac. Teaching him something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack figures out the mystery song.

Jack was beyond excited. Three long weeks had gone by since he’d gotten it into his head to start teaching Mac guitar, while at the same time trying to figure out his mom’s song on the downlow.

Jack had searched lyrics online for songs from before 1995 that were about waking up, and then cross-referenced with the word sunshine. But there was just too much. Especially when he took into account variations of “waking up.”

But then Jack opted to do things the Jack Dalton Way and had done something stupid as all hell. He’d asked James MacGyver. And although the guy was a complete asshat, he’d given Jack the clue he needed to figure out the mystery.

So Jack stood outside Mac’s house, nervous as all get out because he just wanted Mac to be happy. Wanted Mac to be able to share something with his mom. A selfish little part inside Jack loved the idea of being a part of that, sharing that with Mac and no one else. And just the very idea of Mac’s memories of his mother being strengthened through music made Jack feel warm all over. Jack knew the effect a song could have. It could bring you right back to the moment you’d last heard it, let you live in that moment. And Jack just hoped he would be able to help pull that off for Mac.

Jack sucked in a deep breath. It was early, Mac's open-door policy usually started around noon on days off, so he had to open the door with his key. He stepped inside, and wasn't quiet about it so Mac would hear him coming.

Mac’s voice carried from Bozer’s old room that had been transformed into a full-on workshop. “Be right there! Just wanna finish-” A loud buzzing sound interrupted Mac’s words. But it didn’t sound ominous and wasn’t followed by a yell of any kind, so Jack assumed all was going according to plan.

“Alright dude! I brought bagels!” Jack yelled as he took the paper bag to the kitchen and dropped it on the counter.

His fingers itched to play the song, worried that he’d forget it suddenly. He’d figured it out about a week before, and every bit of his spare time had gone into learning it by heart. He wanted it to be perfect. And now that he was on the brink of playing it for Mac, he was nervous and his trigger finger itched, though not for shooting.

Mac came out of the back room, a few black scorch marks along one sleeve. “Hey man,” he greeted Jack with a huge smile. “Did you say bagels?” He grabbed for the paper bag on the counter.

Jack grabbed his sleeve instead. “What the hell happened here hoss?”

Mac’s smile just grew. “Made a bit of a breakthrough.” He tore at the bag.

“Hey, hey,” Jack said more softly, not taking his hand from Mac’s forearm. “Can I just… borrow you for a quick minute before you dig in?”

“Course,” Mac said, setting the bag down and letting Jack lead him to the living room.

Jack grabbed the guitar from the corner, and his hands were shaking. How in the hell had he thought this was a good idea? How was he supposed to bring back memories of Mac’s mother, who probably had the voice of a choir of angels, with his rough old Texas twang?

“Got something new for me?” Mac asked with that smile so wide that almost made his left eye wink closed. “I think I’ve got those chords down from last time.”

Man, he was catching on quick.

“Not exactly,” Jack said, shooting Mac a wink of his own as he sat down on the couch and propped the guitar on his thigh. The wood was like silk under his fingertips, the metal strings seeming to jump at his touch, echoing soft dull notes through the body of the instrument.

Mac followed and sat next to him. “Ok, so what’s up?”

Jack didn’t have any words to preface what he was about to do, so instead he just launched into the song, and prayed like hell he didn’t mess it up. And added another prayer that it was the right song after all.

As soon as his fingers touched the strings he forgot what he was worried about. Playing the guitar was always like that: soothing, relaxing, centring. Playing his guitar after a stressful op was one of Jack’s favourite ways to unwind.

His fingers remembered what he’d learned, and with no effort at all the song flowed from his fingers. It was warm and folky and bright and it took no time at all before he was to the lyrics. And those flowed out of him too. Not the way he’d heard them in the original recordings, cause he was no Joni Mitchell, but suddenly the words spilling out in his husky, accented voice sounded just right.

_Woke up it was a Chelsea morning and the first thing that I heard  
Was a song outside my window and the traffic wrote the words  
It came reelin’ up like Christmas bells  
And wrappin’ up like pipes and drums_

Jack chanced a look at Mac, and the awe and joy on his face made Jack so happy he thought he might bust. It was the right song after all. He’d been worried after the conversation with James, that the man hadn’t really known his wife at all and this would be a dead end. Since the conversation had gone something like: “she was a hippy and she liked a couple of these singers...” followed by a list of folk artists from the 70’s and 80’s.

It was a softer song than anything else Jack had ever learned to play. Mostly he played Smoke on the Water, and a bunch of Metalica tunes, some Ozzy or Zeppelin here or there. He hoped he did this one justice, wandering through the lyrics and letting it just come out naturally.

_Woke up it was a Chelsea morning and the first thing that I saw  
Was the sun through yellow curtains and a rainbow on the wall_

He got to the end, and just like in the versions he’d listened to, he let the music swell to a peak. It was one of those songs that didn’t fade away. It just ended like it expected to go on forever.

_When the curtain closes and the rainbow runs away  
I will bring you incense owls by night  
By candlelight, by jewel light if only you will stay  
Pretty baby, won’t you?  
Wake up, it’s a Chelsea morning_

And then he strummed the last few chords and the room faded to silence slowly like the music just didn’t want to leave. 

Though it wasn’t Jack’s normal kind of music, he had to admit that there was something about it that drew him in.

He looked to Mac, and even though his eyes were tearing up, he was smiling so wide it looked like his face was going to break.

“That’s it!” Mac said, and then swallowed heavy. “That’s the song! How did you… how did you find it? I’ve been looking for years.”

“Well dude, you might not like the answer,” Jack admitted.

“Come on Jack,” Mac pleaded. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to find this song.”

Jack coughed a little and looked down at the guitar he was holding. “I asked your dad,” he admitted, feeling ashamed, like he'd betrayed Mac.

“My dad didn’t know,” Mac said simply, and Jack could hear the smile drop from his tone. “I must have asked him a hundred times. He said he didn’t know.” Mac sounded hurt, as though his dad had been lying to him about his mother for years, or upset that Jack had gone behind his back and talked to James.

“Well you’re right and you’re a little wrong,” Jack said, still afraid to meet Mac’s eye. “He didn’t know the song specifically, but he gave me a few names of your mom’s favourite musicians. And I went through all their music until I found the one that fit.”

“What is it?” Mac asked.

“Chelsea Morning by Joni Mitchell,” Jack said, as he strummed at the strings as though he was checking the tuning, so he could keep his eyes away from Mac, afraid of the judgement he'd see there.

Jack had a sudden revelation that both him and Mac’s mom had played the same song on the same guitar, and it made him a little teary-eyed.

Mac’s hand came into view, those beautiful, long, capable fingers. And Jack thought he was going to lay a hand on the guitar, touch the soft, polished wood of his mother’s guitar. Instead Mac’s hand came to rest on Jack’s fingers where they were plucking at the strings.

Jack looked up to meet those blue eyes and found Mac smiling wide again. Jack had been so worried that Mac would be mad about the source of his intel, he hadn’t even wanted to look. But it was ok. Mac was so happy. Jack could see it all the way down deep, it was that soul-deep kind of happiness.

They were held still in that moment, staring at each other too long. Jack didn’t care, he’d stare at Mac forever if he could. And for some reason it didn’t feel awkward for them to sit like that. Not like every other time that Jack had caught himself staring and tired to nonchalantly end his fixed gaze.

And then Mac broke the silence. “Will you… play it again?” Mac asked. He pulled his hand away and it seemed reluctant, like he wanted to keep touching Jack for a while longer. But Jack had told himself a long time ago to stop reading into things what he wanted to see, and shrugged it off.

“Course Mac,” Jack said, and bit off the words “anything for you” before he made an idiot of himself.

Jack didn’t need to watch his fingers to play the guitar, and after he got himself started he just looked at Mac and smiled, hoping that he could live in the moment forever. He’d given Mac something so precious, and Jack would selfishly take a little of Mac’s attention in exchange.

The song seemed to fly by too quickly, and as he neared the end something strange happened.The lyrics poured out of him like before, and Mac shifted closer to Jack on the couch, their knees touching tentatively.

_When the curtain closes and the rainbow runs away  
I will bring you incense owls by night  
By candlelight, by jewel light if only you will stay  
Pretty baby, won’t you?_

Jack almost choked on the words at the look in Mac’s eye, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away, even found himself leaning toward Mac over the guitar as he finished the last few chords.

As soon as his hands finished strumming, he leaned back again, sure that the spell of the song had been broken; that whatever he was imagining between them faded with the soft notes.

Instead, Mac leaned closer, pressing his knee against Jack’s.

Jack wanted to nervously look away, because he was just seeing things again, he was sure. But there was something almost magnetic between them and he couldn’t move.

Mac pressed closer, leaned his face toward Jack’s, and stopped short.

“Listen Jack, if I’m off base here you let me know.” Mac’s breath was hot against Jack’s cheek.

“You are so far on base you’re standin’ right in the CO’s office dude,” Jack replied.

And still Mac moved so slow, leaning in like he was expecting to be slapped at any moment, until their lips met.

Like a teenager’s first kiss it was soft and tentative on both sides. Until they found that perfect press of lips and relaxed a little into it and then they fit together perfectly.

Jack didn’t even realize his hand was in Mac’s hair until they pulled apart and he saw it there, fingers tangling the golden strands. Mac leaned into that touch, but didn’t close his eyes, he watched Jack instead.

And then Jack realized that Mac’s hand was on his thigh, resting just above his knee. And it was sure and steady and it wasn’t shaking at all, the way Mac did sometimes when it came to relationships and people he cared about.

Jack pulled Mac back in and dropped several small, sweet kisses on his lips before he put their foreheads together.

“Jack?” Mac asked. His voice buzzed with happiness.

“Yeah Mac?”

“Can you teach me to play it?” There was worry there, like he thought he wouldn’t be good enough to learn it or something crazy like that.

Jack pulled back and smiled wider than the state of Texas. “Course Mac.” The words he wanted to say for years and years after conceding to any of Mac’s request spilled from him: “Anything for you.”

Jack handed the guitar over. Their fingers lingered when they touched, and looks lingered too. And Jack loved so much that he could do that now: touch, and look. And now when he looked at Mac he could see the love and desire for Jack in those blue eyes, the love that he'd always dismissed as friendly, but how he could have mistaken it all those years he wasn't sure. Cause it was so damn obvious it was like getting hit with a brick now that he knew what he was looking at.

“On one condition,” Jack said, as he let Mac settle the guitar on his thigh.

“What’s that?” Mac asked.

“You won’t get frustrated,” Jack said. “You ain’t gonna learn it overnight. You’ll get it in the end though. I promise. I’ll make sure of it.”

Mac smiled wide and it lit up his bright icy blues. “And in the meantime, you’ll just have to play it for me instead.”

Jack’s eyes misted up, his heart overwhelmed with the emotions of the morning. He slipped his hands up around Mac’s neck, and pulled him close again. “Just one more before we get started?”

Mac leaned in the rest of the way, the guitar between them.

This time their mouths opened a little, tasting each other’s breath, before Jack pulled back again. He felt giddy and dizzy, but he shook like a dog trying to dry off after a swim and the world came back into focus, Mac right smack at the centre of it.

“Alright then hoss,” Jack said, dropping his hands so Mac could lean over the guitar and get his fingers in place. “We’re gonna get the chords down first, and then we’ll work in the lyrics later. Alright?”

Mac nodded enthusiastically, and pulled the guitar closer like he was hugging a long lost person and not an instrument.

Jack barked out instructions like he was still a Sargent. Music, a lot of it wrong, filled up the house, getting into the corners and chasing any bad memories away. None of the mistakes frustrated Mac, with each one he seemed to glow a little more, seemed to smile a little wider, and Jack was happier than he’d ever thought he could be as he helped Mac find a piece of himself that had been lost for so long.

**Author's Note:**

> Sammy offered up this great prompt:
> 
> What if Mac's mom played guitar but she never got a chance to teach him? And maybe somehow Jack finds out and offers to teach him instead? Naturally this leads to a lot of closeness and feelings...
> 
> I didn't want to post it at the beginning because it's slightly spoilery.


End file.
